Disaster! I had agreed to give up alcohol for Lent but had completely forgotten about a friend’s wedding.
Almost immediately upon arriving in Copenhagen, I was assaulted by the light, crisp, fruity aroma of the Danes’ favourite lager. Something was fermenting in Denmark, and its name was Tuborg.
At first I resisted, but eventually the urge to destroy my liver and kidneys and bicycle wildly across the Rådhuspladsen became too strong, and, egged on by the bride and groom, I embarked on what can only be described as an afternoon’s moderate drinking with close friends.
The pattern was similar for the next few days: wine with lunch, beer in the afternoon, wine with dinner, beer and cocktails to finish, but never drinking to the point where I needed a complete change of blood.
So the fall from the Lenten wagon was not dramatic (or potentially fatal), but it was fairly constant for the four days in Copenhagen. I have since clambered back on to the abstinence cart. I am completely ignorant of the punishment for failing the task.
Am I going to burn in a lake of fire? Be forced to drink Bacardi Breezers for all eternity?